


Dipped in blood

by seraphim_grace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-04
Updated: 2010-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:54:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphim_grace/pseuds/seraphim_grace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this immediately after seeing 4x01 and had no character reference to go on, but I really had to</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dipped in blood

Castiel looked haggard, his shoulders slumped where he stood against the open doorway, the house behind him in that dirty old man mac and his open white shirt and black suit. There was snow in his hair. Everything about him promised violence.

Dean licked his lips, once, twice, and then turned on his heels and ran. There was no point making a stand, Castiel was impervious and his executioner's stride brought him closer than Dean would have liked. A hand reached out and grabbed his denim jacket, but Dean was quicker than that, slipping his arms back and shedding it like a lizard losing it's skin. Castiel threw the coat down to his left with a dark laugh, without breaking his stride.

"You can run, human, but you can't hide, you belong to me." His voice was a sing song throughout the old house. "I didn't pull you out of Hell for you to run from me, human."

Dean didn't say anything. He never did, it was all part of this that Dean remain silent.

The wire caught him at the top of the stairs, wrapping itself around his ankle and forcing him to his knees so that he bumped his chin on the carpet runner, and Castiel was there. "I told you not to run from me." his voice was calm and even. "It doesn't do you any good."

His voice was always calm and even.

Dean still struggled to get away. Castiel just reached out and grabbed the belt of his jeans pulling him up as easily as if he was made of paper. "You." Castiel enunciated each word carefully. "Are." He licked along the side of Dean's face. "Mine."

Turning in the angel's arms to wrap his thighs about his hips Dean kissed him hard, biting into his lips, his nails gripping the angels shoulder's, just above his wings, the shadows of which were unfurled.

Castiel slammed him into the wall, knocking over a vase that was on a small table just a little way up the hall. "Mine," he repeated and kissed Dean as hard as Dean kissed him, all teeth and tongue, and hard fingertips burrowing into his hair and his ass and the wall against him and Castiel's hard hips against his and that stupid mac flapping against his shins crossed over Castiel's back and Castiel could take it, he could support Dean's weight and his nails and his teeth and hard fingers and the rubbing of denim against those plain black trousers because Castiel was a warrior and Castiel's teeth were biting deep into the curve of Dean's neck, where it met his shoulder, and that was just fucking hot.

Dean knew how dangerous those hands were, how sharp the teeth and it made being owned by this creature all the more fucking hot.

Castiel's hands were ripping through the fabric of his tee to bare the skin underneath, golden and sweaty and his all his.

Even his petty rebellions were all for this, for this moment of ownership when Castiel bit him and scratched him and bruised him before he fucked him.

And Dean could feel the heat of the angel's cock lined up against his own, through the cheap wool slacks and his own jeans and he cast his head back as he pushed his hips down and groaned and Castiel just bit deeper, sucking hard on the meat in his mouth and his hand pressed against the mark on Dean's arm where he had been dragged out of Hell and Dean thought he could come right there.

Then Castiel dropped him so he landed hard on his ass, put those hard hot fingers at the back of Dean's head and pressed him forward, into his crotch and the erection and the rough cheap wool. So Dean had to get to his knees as quickly as he could and Dean's fingers were clumsy as he tried to pull on the fly, eager, scared, turned on and bullied all at the same time. It just made him hotter which made his fingers clumsier as Castiel's cock, freed from it's prison of cotton and wool, flopped down in front of him, slapping against his nose.

Dean went to work with gusto, his left hand fumbling about with his own fly as his right held the erection for him to lick and suck and scrape and scratch and bob and the feel of it at the back of his throat and the taste of it and Castiel's hard hands and rigid fingertips in the back of his skull. He had no skill for this but more than made up for it with enthusiasm, rubbing himself with his left hand awkwardly as the right held the cock he was feasting on, sucking and scratching and licking and the taste of it and the noises he was making....

"Enough," Castiel said pushing Dean down and back away from him. "I want what's mine." And Dean wondered why he had never tried to get out of his jeans whilst he was kneeling because he knew what was coming, what Castiel wanted to do with that burning cock that jutted out in front of him through the open fly of his trousers and he was still wearing that stupid mac and Dean was shimmying out of his jeans as fast as he could. He got them to his knees before Castiel lifted him, tangled in his jeans, boots and all so that his ass was lined up against that burning cock and then he was inside without stretching, without proper lubrication and it didn't matter that it hurt, it just made it fucking hotter, and Dean's hands were uselessly fisting in the carpet runner in the hall and he was swearing some sort of litany of fuck yes, fuck good, fuck, god, fuck so good and Castiel was grunting out mine as he thrust in and he was so big, so hard, so hot and the carpet was rubbing friction burns into his back and Castiel was bent over him, grimacing and grunting and thrusting and Dean knew if he wanted someone to touch him he had damn well better touch himself but it felt so good, and then Castiel pulled out, dropped him and with a few quick jerks of his cock came all over him, spraying him like a burning brand. "Mine," he repeated, and then buttoned up his pants and went to walk away. And Dean quickly finished himself off with his hand and it didn't matter that it was not enough, that it was never enough, because he was Castiel's and Castiel was his warrior and that's all that mattered.  
That he was here for Castiel, who had dragged him out of hell for this, and Castiel fought his wars with his wings dipped in blood.


End file.
